In search of

Amid the fast-paced times,forgetful memories and too many choices, I still search for...

a handwritten poetry in the world of typed ones,

a personal call in the world of whatsapp messages,

a conversation about life in the world of peppered gossips,

a shout of familiar voice in the world of half-hearted smiles.



Couldn’t make out

Her eyes were closed, 
or bowed in grace

Her lips were sealed,
or playfully sleeping with each other,

Her curls were waving out to me,
or winds were building their home

Her expression was blooming with grace,
Or face was holding back the storm

Maybe she was everything pink and red could feed
or a different story you could never get to read

Poetry of touch

I will drive my poetry through your curves,
a bit above your skin,
a bit beneath your nerves

the way you bend,
the way you tilt,
covering you from end to end,
letting go all the guilt.

words will feel
as i feel you
i touch you
in places and ways
no one ever has,
through my words, spaces and commas
leaving my ink,
stealing your aromas

Heart crawlers

They come out of hiding, 
appear to be abiding,
searching not, but begging for place,
place not in house, but in heart,
they are into impostering like an art,

you avoid them at start,
but end up dealing,
you look for their wounds,
wounds they have decorated,
to catch your attention,
without even a fleeting mention,
in the conversations
which involve your silences
and their stories,
your copy-paste OKs and their overdose of sorries,

you give them place,
a place in your heart,
still confused
whether as a gift of love or a loan of sympathy,

and the problem starts the moment they take it,
they try to make it something of their own,
making you forget the heartbeats you own,
they start coaxing you for more space,
you give them an inch more,
they bargain for square feets,
they nail you on your weak nerves,
even blackmail if it serves.

Namesake journey

No way to go back
no way ahead,
am just playing the road,
the way journey is playing me,
memories encroaching the moment,
every leaving minute slaying me

with goal and glory leaving the dreams,
worlds the same with eyes closed,
the drama is dead in my poetry leaving it prosed,
mow the aethist in me does believe
life and happiness are often star crossed



Badalta waqt badalte log

Jinse moodne ki umeed thi,

unhone palatke bhi naa dekha,

arse baad jab takraaye,

toh pata chala,

waqt ne unhe ek hunar sikhaya hai

jaankar anjaan banne ka….

Jinse roshni ki umeed thi,

wahi raat de gaye,

jiski subeh woh apne saath le gaye,

sau baar utthe hum us raat mein,

par khidki par sirf andhera dikhta tha

aur parda sarkaane ki himmat rahi naa thi,